Today, I couldn't stop thinking about wasted time
Every moment turns hours into days, which lasts like seconds on a dime.
I need to live a little till it fades into contentment,
But of course that grows into resentment
When doing nothing becomes a sort of hobby.
I can't tell you what I did yesterday - like guilt by omission.
Polite lines cut like suspicion: "What did you do this weekend,"
Is exhibition of my failures as a social creature.
Listening is my favorite feature - I can't wait to overshare my fears
Till they sink into my pores and tears,
Yet watching myself crumble is more annoying than relieving.
My voice is feeble, a hindrance to my healing
It demands to be heard by those who had a lack of feeling
And made me the victim like there was pleasure in hurting.
So energy spent on snowballing thoughts
Packed into little pockets of my subconscious
It's so easy to lose yourself to the allure of negative perceptions.
The idea of happiness seems like a dangerous misconception
But honestly I'd be relieved just to be fine
Even if my life culminated to series of wasted time.
